Reflections of a Friend

He came in that day, he was to stay but

for a week or two, so he said, but that 

became a longer time to last beyond a

simple fortnight or more. When he left

I thought of the time past, as in video

fast rewind, scenes whirled by in replay 

to lay open and raw the moments now

gone by. 

 

He was quiet at first, then slowly but with

a gradual quickening pace, outwardly he

began to reveal his shadowed hurts and

shattered dreams lying just beneath the

shallow outer veneers of  protective shields,

 struggling for a platform of expressive release

they oozed likeopen wounds on battlefield

 found.

 

But the dressings once opened could not

be stilled, soaked with dark and dramatic

depression they cried out for the life once

had, now denied by cloaks of cloudy dust 

brought on  by clear crystalline shards.

 

He talked of past loves, unrequited, and

of desperate moments of frenzy searches

which never seemed to end, and of night-

terrors casting doubts of future peace, the

 questions to arise again and again,

"will these never be bound?" 

 

He seems at times unreachable, 

untouchable as though to speak to

 the arising storm would hasten a

fearful catastrophic event. Then too,

in those moments hidden away from

 view, tears of sadness flood the present

 as in silent cry the past reaches out to

touch the present which can not

be denied.

 

He is a man of many sides, some well

hidden to the casual observer, and some

given in plain view to win the other with

a beguiling grin, a salutatory beginning or

a pleasant ending offered to those who 

happen by. 

 

He can offer his quiet hand to soothe a

fearful soul as he as for me a time or two

when awakened from fretful sleep, and he

will return with unexpected gifts showing

his unspoken tender side, he can smolder,

fume, and smoke and then with lightening

speed blow spark and fire all to recede

with humble pie!

 

Who is this man who has struck a cord with

me now requiring these words to flow, who is 

this person who demands of me some thoughtful

 prose yet difficult to capture in essence clear,

 is he just a passing person, a man walking by

in the obscured pathways of life times once

here and then gone, it might be that, 

but I think not.

 

 No, he is an intimate friend, one of those whose

fables, follies and failings one accepts as part of

the whole, an integral part of life's continual,

connecting processes of defining moments;the

 friend whose absence creates a lack ofcomplete-

ness, a sense of loss as though a bit of self has

gotten lost; and yet,a pleasant aurora of times

to come is left deposited for future references.

 

So in feeble way I've described a man who has

become a special friend, a connected person who

now can not be shaken from the soul; there exists

a genuine deep affection and fondness that bind

the ties between us. This is a man, who indeed has

become my friend, and I write these words for you

my friend... "stay safe, be well,

do that which you know is best,

and above all remember our friendship

 now formed as will I."

For my friend, Scott V

tedc Feb. 23, 2004